


Cicatrix

by banerising



Series: Left Numb and Cold [1]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Magicks infused AU, Multi, Paganism, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-14 09:32:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5738551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banerising/pseuds/banerising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Chronicles Charles Foster Offdensen and how he manages to keep Dethklok afloat with just his usual badass self and possibly some help from an unseen force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thunderhorse

**Author's Note:**

> I do not claim any rights to Metalocalypse. This AU is heavily inspired by LuciferxDamien's own work: Binding. The fic is fantastic and I could not resist wanting to write more in this world.
> 
> As a warning, there will be internalized homophobia and various homophobic views in this chapter and up-coming chapters.

The first brush of death that he had, that he could remember, had been when he was no older than six. He was fairly angry with his parents, Charles remembered clearly, he had been angry for days before he decided that he would try to make it out into the world on his own. Charles had run away, during the time he should have been in primary school, he had packed a bag of things that he thought he would need, which included money from a jar he always knew had money in it, a flashlight, his own social security card, a change of clothes, some snacks that he could fit into his bag and an old stuffed dog toy, that had a few patches on it from misuse.

After he had gathered his items, he wrote a simple ‘Goodbye – C.’ on a note and left it on the kitchen table with the jar that held the money. He had managed to make it to the next city over before any suspicion was alerted from the authorities. Charles was walking through the streets when a police officer had pulled up next to him, asking him if he needed a ride home. Like a good boy, Charles said no and then walked faster—he had no idea who this officer was and a little part of him was panicked at the idea of some man trying to walk off with him.

When he had been pressed for his information, Charles had, in favor of giving it, ran off from the spot he had been at. Charles had run for some time, glancing behind him to see the police car chasing after him and, like a stupid child, he had not looked where he was running—he had run straight into a busy intersection and was hit by a car.

Strangely, little Charles had walked away from the accident with nothing more than a few broken bones and stitches that he needed on his leg where the bone snapped out of the skin. The stitches had left quite a scar during his years of growing up.

The second time he had an intense brush with death had been when Charles was 15, stupidly in love with the wrong person, in the wrong era. He had attempted to discreetly court a popular football player during his high school years, and while his courting had been successful for a few days, the two had been outed swiftly and the very boy he had courted turned on him with such intense rage that Charles knew he would not walk away from this fight. The football player, with three or four of his other friends, had beat Charles within an inch of his life.

He was hospitalized, in a coma for 30 hours and he had regained consciousness with little trouble. The biggest gash he had, from being beaten nearly to death, had stretched from his sixth rib to his nipple on the left side of his torso— at the same time of his healing, Charles decided that he would remain single and, in the future, he would satisfy his sexual desires with anonymous, one night stands that would never make it back to him.

During his time in the hospital, Charles had been alone often. He never had any friends and his parents had both been very busy with work—and Charles understood that; so when he was lying in the bed, staring forlornly out the window, he had not expected to hear the door open. When his attention finally drifted to the… being in his room, Charles had not expected an older man. There was no vocalization between them, but the two had a conversation of what Charles thought was a joke, but his interest was piqued despite the ridiculousness of the subject. At the end of the conversation, Charles was given a black, leather bound journal with a pentacle drawn in dried blood on its cover

The third time he met Death, Charles was in college and in his fencing class with a fellow student. He and the student had been fairly decent acquaintances, but Charles had not anticipated his opponent to want Charles to suffer— after the battle that had ended with Charles’s back being sliced to hell, Charles was sent to the hospital for the first time since he was 15. While he was bandaged, Charles had decided at that time, he was to never trust anybody with himself and his well-being.

After college, times with death had come too often and Charles had lost count and care. Charles worked through life, bored and no longer caring about his life— until he met them. Until he, stupidly went to a seedy bar, in some far off town from his dead-end job and watched this band play.

The band was stunning, five men working together to bring a cacophony of sound that just pulled the rug from under Charles and drew him in like they were sirens, and he suddenly found himself in front of the stage, staring up at the singer with hair like the void and a voice like what Charles had imagined God had sounded like. He was floored by their music, never having really heard or had a taste for it before, but now—now he knew he had to be with them in some way.

Taking up the opportunity to speak with them, Charles had decided to pay for three rounds of whatever they wanted to drink. They agreed—well the redhead did, the drummer; Charles recognized him after Red spoke. Pickles, from Snakes and Barrels—he was a drummer now? Interesting.

Sitting beside the singer, Charles felt that he had been given a gift and he knew he could not squander it. He let them sit in silence while he worked through mild anxiety (and thoughts of what spells to use tonight) before the singer grabbed him by his suit jacket, yanking for his attention and staring down at him with such intense green eyes, that Charles knew he was in over his head already.

They had accepted his offer to become their band manager, much easier than he thought, and Charles was left with a $400 tab and a sense of satisfaction. Sure, Charles was a lawyer, but he could wing the rest of what he needed to do to negotiate anything for Dethklok.

Months went by, he got them gigs, he got them money and beer and cleaned up their destructive partying ways—he spent every night by himself, in his apartment and drawing magick from the world to help. His intentions were to always bring safety to Dethklok, and secondly to bring the boys luck. They were simple spells that required his self-pleasure and full attention.

During one of his rituals, he had been drawn out of his shaky state by a knock at his front door. Who would disturb him at nearly five in the morning? Or had it been later? Charles did not know nor did he seek to find out. With a great deal of struggling, he left his bed room with a robe on over his naked body and answered the door. His eyes, while normally an inviting shade of hazel, were nearly black with how blown his pupils were; drew upwards from the floor to the face of the singer.

Still struggling with containing the magick inside of him, Charles merely lifted his eyebrows while the coldness in the air behind the singer crawled into the apartment with long, wispy tendrils that licked and cracked along Charles’s exposed skin.

Suddenly, Charles was pushed aside and the singer let himself inside, going straight for the kitchen to grab whatever alcohol the manager had. Normally, Charles would put up a fight and argue but he was flickering out of existence and fading with the magick, so he let Nathan into his apartment and let him do whatever he wished while closing the front door. The manager walked with some hesitation before he found himself in front of Nathan, looking up at him as a man would look upon the first God; he feels his body moving without his command to touch the singer’s stomach and sides with soft little strokes of his fingers.

Nathan looked down his large nose at Charles, if only, just now noticing how strange Charles looked. More pale than usual, his skin looked like it was clammy yet too tight on the muscles and bone below it; but what really stood out for Nathan was the way Charles smiled. His teeth were showing, like he was grimacing but he looked really happy and it was starting to fuck with Nathan’s mind. The hands on his sides and stomach felt weird, drawing him in but pulling him away at the same time—he bared his teeth a little, drank the bottle of shitty Coors beer before tossing the bottle onto the ground, causing it to shatter.

That did nothing to draw Charles out of this weird state and Nathan reached his hands to grab the manager by his shoulders, to shake him, but the moment he touched Charles’s shoulders, he feels frozen in time as coldness crept up his fingers like a very sure inchworm. He gets closer to look into Charles’s eyes, where he sees how dark and faded they are. “What’s—” As soon as Nathan spoke, Charles lunged forward and captured Nathan’s lips in a very intense and forceful kiss.

While startled, Nathan did not pull away. Instead, he moved his hands down to Charles’s hips and picked him up with complete ease. His motions startling a moan out of the manager’s mouth while teeth and tongues clashed and clinked together in a feverous abandon while they moved around the apartment. Since this had been Nathan’s first time at Charles’s apartment, he had slammed him up against the wall and tried to pin him there because he didn’t want to pull away to be lead into the bedroom.

Charles seemed to be okay with being up against the wall, his robe falling open while his arms were pinned above his head. He moaned into the kiss, trying to get some friction with his erection with no results; he got frustrated and struggled against Nathan while trying to pull back from the kiss. After his lips were released, Charles leaned in and whispered in Nathan’s ear, asking him to take him back to the bedroom.

But, unexpectedly, Nathan just pulls back to look down at him with confusion written all over his face with mild annoyance. The singer wonders if he should try to talk again, so in favor of talking he grabbed a hold of his manager and brought him back toward the bedroom.

Upon being lifted like that, Charles shivered and tried his best not to go boneless, but he was very weak and very easily influenced during this time. He was being pulled around like he was nothing, and the warmth of his bedroom hit him hard, suffocating him yet making him feel like he was being cradled and welcomed home; the two had suddenly stopped walking and Charles spotted the circle he had drawn on the floor.

Trying to make a joke, he said something to Nathan and expected at least a chuckle, but the two of them merely made awkward eye contact and Charles frowned. He went to talk again before Nathan brought his hand up and covered his mouth, then Nathan pulled the robe off his shoulders, making Charles feel strange but he wouldn’t stop anything now.

He shouldn’t have answered the door, Charles mentally kicks himself as he realizes that he was fading. “ _Please_.” Charles moaned softly as the warmth in the air licked at his skin like biting kisses.

Nathan wanted time to admire Charles’s skin and the way he looked, but the poor guy seemed like he was going to burst if he didn’t get help coming. Nathan wanted to—eugh, he hated this word—sort of romance Charles, but the guy was speaking weird gibberish that didn’t sound like any language that Nathan had heard before now and he kept trying to talk to Nathan, but Nathan didn’t want to hear the gibbering and had essentially told him to shut up by holding his hand to Charles’s mouth. When Charles finally stopped trying to talk, Nathan moved his hand down and wrapped both around Charles’s neck, without thinking about what he was doing.

Charles’s heart fluttered wildly in his ribcage, barely being contained as Nathan’s oh so large hands wrap around his neck and start choking the life out of him. The world started to go dark, his intentions becoming twice as strong to protect and make each of his boys happy. Charles’s eyes flutter and slide close while he gently groped at Nathan’s pants, trying to get his dick free and return at least some favor, but his hands were slow and dumb.

Nathan had tried to push Charles onto the bed, but the guy just suddenly seemed so much heavier to the singer and he stopped choking Charles to make sure that the manager was okay, but as soon as his fingers left the manager’s neck, Charles just fell into him and tried to drag him toward the painted circle on the floor.

It took Nathan a moment to realize what the manager had wanted and he finally moved them over it, hoping he wouldn’t regret doing this—and when the two were in the circle, darkness swallowed them and all Nathan could feel was the warmth from some candles and the manager in front of him. The singer looked at his manager, eyeing him and wondering what kind of shit that he just got himself into by coming over so damn late and not being entirely sober.

Soft whimpers and moans escaped Charles’s lips while he pet at Nathan’s shirt and pants, trying to convey his need to get Nathan just as naked. He was helpless to try and speak, as his vocal muscles felt like they were straining with just the very idea of making some noise other than moans. So, when Nathan finally gets undressed, Charles sags against him and reaches out into the darkness of the circle, he comes back with a small mortar and pestle that had some things already crushed in it. He dipped his fingers into the content before coming back and shakily trying to paint his fingers along Nathan’s chest.

Nathan stared down at Charles while he painted nonsense all over Nathan’s chest, he wasn’t sure if this was good or not but his brain felt like he was in quicksand and the stuff that was touching his chest had been cold, but quickly warmed like that lube—he went to touch it too, but Charles lazily slapped at his hand. The singer growled a little and captured Charles’s lips in a rough kiss while Charles painted himself up a little more, feeling more hands on him than he knew was possible.

He wants to pull away from the kiss, but Charles bit Nathan’s lower lip hard enough to cause a jolt of pain to shoot straight down to his dick. Nathan felt more hands petting over his skin while Charles’s fingers danced and then rubbed the non-liquid over his dick, which jumped at the weird sensation of how cold it felt. Soon, the weird shit started to warm and nearly burn—but it was still pleasurable, almost like how he got when he was jerking it too much.

A low growly, moan escapes from Nathan and he bit back at Charles’s lips. He almost refuses to pull back, but Charles was whimpering like he was in pain and Nathan didn’t like the sound of it. When he pulls away, Charles had brought the non-liquid from Nathan’s body to his own, painting small swirls and seemingly random designs on his own chest, but covering up much more of his own body than he had covered up Nathan’s body. Nathan found himself just watching Charles, enchanted by the way his shaky hand seemed to draw better than what Nathan thought was possible.

After he finished drawing, Charles set the mortar and pestle down somewhere, then he scooted closer and started to kiss along Nathan’s neck with these soft, shaky little kisses. Nathan would have been annoyed and demanded that Charles either get rough or stop shaking so much, but he wasn’t sure if he possessed the words. So, instead, he threaded a hand through Charles’s hair and grabbed both of their cocks with one hand, stroking both of them—the more he stroked, the warmer that not-liquid got, and despite it being weird feeling, Nathan found it to be pleasurable. He groaned before pulling Charles into a kiss, trying to get him to bite and lick back.

As soon as he was attacking Charles’s lips for a response, Charles seemed to writhe and shake weirdly, but despite the shaking and trembling, Charles was moaning with pleasure and pumping his hips into Nathan’s hand.

Time passed weirdly, Charles was eager to do whatever Nathan was doing to him and tried to reciprocate as much as he could, but his hands felt too cold compared to that non-liquid on his body and Nathan just had Charles hold his hair, before he picked Charles up, making the manager wrap his legs around Nathan’s body while the singer knelt down inside of the circle, jerking their dicks together while Charles writhed and moaned, his voice getting deeper and the candles got darker the closer the band manager got to an orgasm.

Nathan moved from kissing to biting and marking Charles’s neck and shoulders up, silently marking Charles as his hips and hand moved with a rhythm working together beautifully, making Charles cry out with such pleasure. It was strange, and nice, but still strange—the manager seemed to be whispering and his head dropped back, allowing more of his neck to be exposed.

While Nathan bit at the exposed flesh in front of him, Charles’s eyes clouded over, becoming nearly and completely black while the manager breathlessly whispered the rest of the incantation. He dug his nails into Nathan’s back, his hips stuttering and then he cried out loudly as he came all over Nathan and himself.

Somewhat surprised at how quickly Charles came, Nathan gripped himself and worked himself to completion with a low growl—which echoed in the bedroom—he panted and breathed over Charles, realizing that it was one of the most intense orgasms he’s had in sometime. Nathan moved his hair out of his face to glance down at Charles and ask if he’s okay, but he sees that Charles is already asleep. He bristled, frowning angrily and pulled Charles off of him. Nathan brought the manager to his bed, deciding that staying the night would be the worst thing and he got dressed, not caring if he disturbed Charles—when he got to the front door, Nathan could hear Charles stirring and he felt a rush of panic.

He opened the door and left the apartment, deciding that this was not going to happen again and if Charles was into weird shit, that was fine, but Nathan wasn’t and he wasn’t into dudes and that what happened was a fucking mistake and a fucking dream. Nathan was going to drink until he forgot what he did with Charles.

The following weeks, even months, after their strange encounter, Nathan avoided Charles as much as he could but the manager always just seemed to find him no matter where he was. Nathan relented after the fifteen or sixteenth time of being caught in a bar, he sat and demanded that they drink but not talk.

For a few hours, Nathan drank and drank before he got annoyed at Charles. “What? What the fuck do you want from me?” The singer snapped.

Charles looked at him with a careful and guarded look, remaining very passive while he nursed a gin and tonic. “I wanted, ah, to let you know that I…” There was a slight pause, Charles looked briefly conflicted before he pushed his glasses back up his nose, “got Dethklok a record deal.”

And that was the last time Charles had decided to try and bring up what happened.

With the news of the record label, Nathan completely forgot his anger and worry in favor of wide eyed shock and excitement. He hollered loudly before finishing his beers, “why the fuck did you take so long to tell me?” Nathan would ask, and Charles would apologize but never give a real answer. They would talk, Nathan would celebrate before demanding that they get all the boys and party together. Charles would oblige and just simply be the sober part in all of it, just watching his boys make fools of themselves but he would happily clean up after them.

The next day, they signed the contracts for the label and Charles was briefly glad that this had finally started to work in their favor. He would need to use another ritual to ensure that their fame would become secure.

Three days after the label signing, Charles got wind of Magnus Hammersmith going completely off the edge and stabbing Nathan. The manager was pissed, he had to deal with another negotiation while his boys figured out if they wanted another member to the band or not—Charles sat for days in Roy Cornickleson’s office, pouring over the contracts and, in the end, he had to pay money out of his own pocket to make sure that there would be no legal action taken and after the revisions were made, the boys found their fifth and final band mate, Charles had them sign the contract once again.

Then, they were given time to record.

Their first album was stunning.

Dethklok was perfect.

The world stood no chance.

            Charles knew he had chosen the correct career path as Dethklok rose from the Depths of Humanity to the top billboards all around the world. Their single, Thunderhorse, became the most played song and it brought a certain type of happiness to Charles to know that he had a hand in this.

            After three weeks of being the top single being played, Charles had the full album released and had the boys working on the second album for a few weeks afterwards. Charles gave them a month of vacation after half of the set list was finished.

During their vacation, Charles watched over them like a hawk but never interfering unless he had no choice. They were a wild bunch of young men and had the whole world at their hands.

Then came their first world tour. Charles knew Pickles could deal with the stress, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about how the rest of the band would take the constant travelling—he made sure to get great arrangements with the first of what would become the massive army known as the Klokateers; things went off without a hitch during their first live concert. Or, at least that’s what Charles wish he could say.

It became very clear to Charles that death would follow his boys around like a smog. Charles had doubts that it could have been his fault for using such a strong spell, but he cast out the idea for now and worked on a press release for the deaths of fans.

The world seemed to be okay with how many people died at the concert and it stunned Charles, but as ever, he never gave a single hint to his emotions. Offdensen became the manager they needed, he became a shell of what little was left of his personality and did _anything_ his boys needed—

It became clear that Charles Offdensen would die for Dethklok.

Years into the future, when the band manager would face against the Masked Assassin, he would accept his fate to die for his boys. But that would be then, in the now, Charles was dealing with contracts for the fans so they could not and would not sue Dethklok for any liabilities for accidents during live shows.

When the first lawsuit came against Skwisgaar Skwigelf for birthing a child, Charles got him off the payments with some trouble and then he went through a contract that all groupies would have to sign in order for them to even see Skwisgaar. The next five lawsuits came from a mixture of people and Charles eventually came to stating that all who went to see the Swedish guitarist would need to sign a waiver.

After a short celebration with his boys, he trusted #001 with his boys’ lives and went home.

Home never felt right and the stains never came out.


	2. Go Into the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As we become a fly on the wall and follow the Manager's story, we come across some very stressful events. We can only watch as everything unfolds. We must wait....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The warnings that I have chosen for this fanfic is in a general whole of the fanfic itself. There will not be any non-con/rape in this chapter and there will not be any until the final chapter.
> 
> I will admit that the timeline of this fanfic is very... muddled, to the say the least. Essentially, I'm making this all up as I go through the writing. I have drawn from other fanfics, because everybody does it and I will continue to do so because it's fun and if I take a major element from any other fanfic, I will disclaimer it. Otherwise, this is 90% of headcanons that I like and then 10% of mixed elements.
> 
> General warnings for this chapter: Close death encounters, daddy kink, dirty talk?, choking on a dick...

Home never felt right and he could never get the stains out.

Often times, Charles would be alone for hours and hours and never really need the comfort of another person. But with the singer of his boys having visited him, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be alone anymore. It always hurt to be alone, Charles could ignore it but now... Now he couldn't. How could he after that intense spell and intense orgasm? Magick had never exited his body so quickly before.

\--------

The spell had been stronger, the presence of magick had been stronger since then too but Charles had felt like he was running out of spells, he felt like he was losing track of the magick he was given and the book wasn't enough for Dethklok. It wasn't enough for him.

While they weren't entirely rich yet, Charles and his boys had been rich enough for Charles to explore 'magic' stores and never have the world know of it. He explored store after store during their first live tour, never finding anything that he really felt like the authors knew what they were talking about and it pissed Charles off.

What was he going to do now?

He decided to explore more than just the lame magick shops after a few times of being disappointed; he would explore old book shops, he would explore any seedy, shady looking store that had anything old in it until he got to the point of nearly exhausting all of his options.

During one of his explorations of a seedy, cold feeling book store, Charles had caught wind of something fairly upsetting. He, in the future, would curse himself for leaving the boys alone after a show-- but when he was notified by #011 of the possible damages that Dethklok was causing at the bar less than five blocks away.

Sure, he wasn't surprised and sure, Charles had been a little pissed at the boys for being so destructive but that didn't stop him from going to go check on his boys.

When he was met with the fire rather than the regular destruction the boys caused, Charles did a quick headcount of everybody standing on the street before he recognized that there had been Dethklok members and three Gears missing at the time. Without waiting for the sirens to get closer and stop, Charles brought his sleeve to his mouth and immediately dove right into the bar to go find his boys.

It was a miracle that he found Murderface. The guy was passed out behind the bar and safe from most of the smoke in the air. Charles was grateful that he wasn't injured and dragged him out, shouting for #001 and #020 to make sure that Murderface got out of the fire completely. Before he could get stopped again, Charles was back into the burning hell. He found one of the Gears, #002 it seemed to be, before dragging her out. Charles was proud of the fact that #002 was alive enough and as he went to go back inside, Charles felt a strong grip on his shoulder.

Charles's willpower was strong, but it did not click in control here as he just punched whoever was holding onto him-- thankfully it wasn't Nathan or one of the other band members, it had been a firefighter he would later learn; without waiting for somebody else to go back in, Charles did.

He went in and he went to find Pickles.

Coughing was draining his energy but he could just not breathe, the sleeve was barely working as a filter and he hated himself for leaving the boys alone. He searched as best as he could as the fire licked at his heels, something cracks and snaps right above him. Charles rolled into the safest and most immediate room, which happened to be the men's bathroom-- the smoke was terrible in there and he had to struggle to close the door against what felt like the forces of the Fire.

When he tried to look through the stalls, he had to stop because his coughing was getting to be too much for him to function correctly. Charles lowered himself to the floor, looking under the stalls from there. When he saw no immediate feet or body, he felt angry.

He was angry at himself and he was angry at Pickles now.

Where the fuck was Pickles?

After thinking about where the fuck Pickles might have gone, Charles realized he had been starting to choke to death on the smoke and it was really fucking inconvenient. What a shitty way to die. It was not, as Nathan liked to say, metal.

Before he could even try to crawl out of the bathroom, the world became too grey and smoky and then it was black.

Here, in a strange and floating world between the realm of the dead and the realm of life, Charles was greeted with what he could only guess was Death.

_Again?_ Charles had asked, his voice vaguely echoing off the damp, grey walls.

As per usual, there had never been an answer. Or there was and he couldn't understand if it was an answer or if it had just been him making it all up.

_You know that every time you come for me, I have always made it out of your office and back into my body._ It felt like he was threatening Death the more he talked, but everything was just so hazy feeling that he couldn't guess what emotions were really behind his comments.

As silence filled between them, Charles felt himself get up without really moving. He felt odd, his chest hurt and he tried to touch his own chest. Again, in this world between Life and Death, he had no physical form and that always fucked with him.

_You know, giving me no hands is kind of a pain in the ass_. It was meant to be just a joke.

There was laughter, it was filled with an emotion he couldn't parse through and Charles decided he didn't want to. He just wanted to join the living again. He hated being stuck with Death because the guy always filled his head with such a suffocating silence.

_I am not your Death_. The voice was nearly, impossibly high pitched and it jostled Charles. It woke Charles up from his haze, he was greeted with a white ceiling. There was a vague brown stain directly above his head.

After a pause of thought, Charles decided the stain was not made from water, nor had it been enough to stimulate him. He sat up and glanced around the room, but without his glasses, he was just seeing blurry and vague shapes.

Was he dead?

"No," came a voice that startled him. Charles glanced in the direction of the voice, where a man came into view.

It was Pickles.

Charles felt immediate relief and had to stop himself from falling backward out of pure relief. "You're alive." His voice sounded funny, it hurt to talk and he recognized he must have choked for some time, on smoke.

Maybe he should throw out his last pack of cigarettes after this.

Pickles just laughed, it sounded strained and forced, but it still was attempting to be comforting for the man in the hospital bed. The redhead was clearly suffering from anxiety while being in the hospital, even if he too was wearing an unflattering gown and looked just as sickly as Charles felt.

Carefully looking over Pickles as the man went and pulled up a chair to sit next to him, Charles wondered exactly how they both got out alive. He made some mental notes to get the bartender to sign off on it, to get the insurance papers for him to fill out and that he definitely needed to interrogate whoever was with the boys at the time.

As he went over a mental laundry list, Pickles had cleared his throat. "D'ey give you some cool drugs in here, dood." He was slurring a little bit and Charles was nowhere near surprised by the fact that Pickles had picked up on any kind of drug he could get his hands on or weasel somebody into giving him.

Charles settled against the bed as he tried to think of what happened or if he wanted to know what happened. He vaguely remembered punching somebody, saving Murderface and feeling like there had been something else in the fire than just the fire itself.

"You rescued me." Had Charles been unaware of his own devotion, apparently even while blacked out, he would never believe what Pickles had just said. No person could be choking to death and somehow be able to save another human being. Nobody but Superman and that guy was a total jackoff anyway.

"Yeah, I was in 'da bathroom an' you just kinda... fell onto me?" Pickles tried explaining through his own haze of legal (and illegal) drugs. "An' then we were here. Well. I was here."

Trying his best not to press for more answers, Charles just raised his eyebrow, before taking another mental note to find his old prescription glasses because he probably lost his in the fire. Right. He would need to ask hire a new Gear as an assistant.

"Dood!" Pickles was suddenly in his face and Charles had to grip his horrible hospital gown not to reflexively hurt Pickles. "I'unno where the fuck yer goin', but jus'... Jus' stop for a second." Pickles sounded a little tired and maybe even a little panicked at the idea of just talking to what could be equated to a blank person.

Thinking about how to answer this, Charles gave a muted sigh and then focused as best as he could on the drummer. "Are you okay?" His throat felt scratchy and he wondered if he could get out of the bed to get some water for himself.

"No. I mean, yea'." Pickles reacted poorly to the question, immediately covering up for his true answer. "The fire was pretty bad, huh?" The drummer finally settled on asking as he moved from standing next to the manager to sitting on the bed a bit, leaning on the palm of his left hand, which essentially trapped Charles in his bed.

A spike of fear hit him and only then did Charles realize that he was hooked up to a heart monitor. Seeing Pickles’ eyebrows jump up like that before a slightly lecherous grin cross his face made his heart beat only faster and the machine picked it up. Charles decided he would take it out on a heart monitor in the future-- the firm smack to his stomach drew him out of his thoughts again and he decided he would have to get better at being able to appear like he was tuning in and listening but not really so that he could actually do work when talking with the band.

"What’s’a matter, Charlie~?" Pickles was clearly teasing him, leaning in and placing his hand closer to Charles's hand rather than trapping his legs, the drummer now had successfully trapped Charles down on his bed with his smaller body.

He knew he couldn't lie. Charles definitely knew he couldn't lie because his heart rate would jump up, despite the fact that it was already rising the closer Pickles got. "Nothing." The brunet finally settled on, which wasn't an entire lie because he was finding out that he didn't mind the situation he was in.

Idly, Charles wished he could have his spell book and his apartment back. His fingers itched and he did not make an effort to push or pull Pickles, instead he just waited for Pickles to decide what he wanted to do.

The air grew thick with some kind of tension, the drummer was moving in to make his move when the door to their shared room was knocked open by the lead singer. It was impressive how fast Pickles was, but it was also impressive that Nathan didn't break the door or the wall when he threw the door open like that.

Charles's face was pink and he had managed to calm his heart rate down enough that it wasn't beeping like crazy and Charles gave himself a little credit for recognizing Nathan, despite the fact that he just seemed like some sort of big, black blur. Note to self: Use less alliteration.

Keeping calm, Charles listened to Nathan and Pickles sort of fight for a second as Toki and Murderface trailed in. Murderface was in his civvies and that made Charles feel much better, he didn't seem to have any injuries either. Charles glanced at Toki, or what he thought was Toki and gave a mute smile.

"...old you that was a shitty idea." It seemed like he tuned back in just to hear Nathan's tail end of scolding Pickles. So, had the fire been Pickles’ fault? Insurance papers. Get them soon Charles.

"Get off m'back." Pickles said with a shrug, but he wasn't really that defensive. He really must have been on something good from the doctors. "An' I don't remember you arguin' too hard about it." There was that accusatory tone.

Then things just sort of burst into shouting between Pickles and Nathan, Charles could tell that Nathan was worried and Pickles was just stubborn. He didn't like being wrong, or to be scolded in the way that Nathan had been scolding him. Charles reminded himself to do a bit more research into his bo-- Band. Why he felt that he needed to change from saying boys to band at this particular moment, Charles would never know.

Rubbing at his forehead as he felt a headache starting to come on, he idly wished he could be back in his suit so he could fish out the bottle of Excedrin he tended to need around the band. “Stop.” It was a simple command yet it was heeded by both parties in the band. When he was given ground to actually talk, Charles tried to focus on the mass that was Nathan. “Where, ah, are my glasses?” Distract them long enough to figure out a way to get all of them to tell him the real story and not what was going to be made up.

When Charles spoke like that, it had only happened once before this, everybody had stopped whatever they were doing and focused on the usually calm manager. Nathan had crossed his arms, looking irritated and indignant at the fact that he was being yelled at—or rather talked at in such a tone. He had no answer for Charles about his glasses and it seemed nobody else in the room had any clue either.

\---

The rest of the hospital visit had nothing substantial happen, Charles had been sent to his apartment with his spare and older prescription glasses. He decided that he would read through his book to try and stave off the sudden and very intense crippling loneliness. The apartment seemed to be too bare for him to really get any warmth out of it, even if there had been a warm and earthy tone in the designs. From the wallpaper, to the carpet, to the furniture and even the appliances he had in his kitchen, everything had been set up to make sure that he was never driven crazy by the whiteness that everything had been.

Even when he got the tone of his apartment, he never felt like it would be enough to really do much to Charles, except for sometimes look really gaudy. Charles sat on the dark orange, nearly brown, couch and rubbed at his eyes, the words had started to blur together and he knew that he had no time to actually do his nightly ritual. It bothered him, the type of pills he had been on during his hospital visit were still hanging around and clouding everything. He was just getting off his couch when he heard the knock at his door.

It was hard to contain the excitement he had felt, but Charles remained passive through years of just **being** a passive person. He got to the door and opened it without looking through the peep hole. A small part of Charles had hoped it would be Nathan at his door, but when he’s greeted with the mess of red hair, Charles pursed his lips but stepped aside without questioning how Pickles knew where he lived or why Pickles was there. Charles assumed that it was probably best that neither of them be alone, but Charles never sought out any sort of company because he had too many other things to be doing.

“What’s that?” A simple, innocent question but Charles felt a mild spike of panic slither through his system as Pickles nodded his head toward the worn, leather book in the manger’s left hand.

A brief debate went on in Charles’s head before he just decided to show the front of it toward Pickles. The pentacle was still painted on the front, as if it had been bound into the leather rather than dried on it with blood. He had taken care of his book of spells, but Charles was very surprised how the blood didn’t fade away. It still looked just as ‘fresh’ as it had been when Charles received this book. “Rituals.” The manager finally settled on saying while keeping the book in his hand, not letting Pickles touch it.

Staring at the object, Pickles scrunched his face up slightly and considered asking more about it, but the book gave him a weird vibe and he was not nearly high or drunk enough to ask about it. Instead, Pickles just went into the living room and tossed himself onto the couch, turning his back to Charles before his manager could kick him out and passed right out.

Well, there was that. Charles sighed, took his book and placed it on the altar that was always pristine and never bothered with unless he had to clean it or he had to use the book. He grabbed an extra down blanket, placed it over Pickles, grabbed the drummer a glass of water and some old Quaaludes he had from back in the eighties for morning consumption.

After that, Charles barely managed to make it to his bed before he passed out.

What would wake him, four hours later, would be the sound of Pickles entering his room. While he was awake, Charles gave no indication that he was. He kept his breathing even like he was still asleep and closed his eyes to keep track of Pickles via the footsteps he would be taking to get wherever it was he wanted to go in Charles’s apartment. Even if his eyes were open, Charles couldn’t see beyond his bed anyway. Quickly checking out of his own head, he strained to listen to Pickles but it seemed that the drummer had just entered the bedroom and stood there, rather than getting any closer or further into the room. Was Pickles sleep walking?  
  
There was another 60 seconds before Pickles walked from the doorway and further into the room. The drummer was oddly not stubbing his toes on anything; he went around the left side of Charles’s bed before his bed dipped with pressure. Charles still did not give any indication that he was actually awake, even as he felt the hand lightly touch his leg.

Had Charles been dreaming instead of waking up? It was a possibility but, he didn’t know if he wanted to interrupt what was going on.

The hand moved upwards a little, crawling over his thigh before it settled there and Pickles seemed to be pleased with just touching him there. Charles wondered what was going through the other man’s mind; when he reminded himself that he gave Pickles probably expired Quaaludes, he wondered if it was giving a weird affect to the drummer but he sort of dashed the idea because he knew Pickles could handle just about any drug—he seemed to be growing an immunity to it all, thus making him need more… That worried Charles.

The weight of the bed suddenly lifted, so did the warmth of Pickles’ hand. Charles heard him move around the bed and instead of going for the door, Charles heard him going for the altar. It had been a few years since he had moved that fast, but Charles was off the bed and pinning Pickles (half in the circle because he knew where the pentacle was on his floor; he held Pickles there in silence while the man didn’t even struggle under him. All Pickles could do was give a loud gasp in shock and if Charles was honest to himself, which he often wasn’t, he wasn’t sure it was Pickles who gasped like that.

Pickles was surprised, one because he thought Charles was asleep and two because the guy moved like a fucking mountain lion. It was scary, just how little the drummer knew about the drummer. Hitting the ground was hard, but it seemed like, even while stopping Pickles from doing something stupid, Charles had cradled the drummer’s head with his hand. “Sup, chief?” Pickles asked with a smirk, despite his nervousness.

He regretted letting Pickles in, just as much as he had regretted letting Nathan in. Charles carefully let his eyes adjust to the darkness without answering his employer. Charles _wanted_ to ask why he was going to touch his book of spells, but instead, what came out was a low moan as the magic that was usually contained within the circle started to crawl along his skin.

Eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the moan, Pickles felt his skin crawl with pleasure and a prickle of something else—he didn’t realize Charlie swung that way and it really made Pickles want to drive his hips upward toward Charles, but he didn’t. Something told him not to and he was going to listen to that. “You okay there?” It was genuine concern, even if his voice became huskier. What the hell?

Taking a moment to gain control of the magick that started to flow through his veins before he opened his eyes to look down at Pickles, staring at him with a strange expression. He was trying to school his expression into his usual stoic-ness, but it was having a lot of trouble. “Yes.” Charles exhaled his answer, finally, without being too shaky. The source of this particular vein of Magick seemed to be for pure lust and good fortune, with the golden aftertaste he got in his mouth.

While he wanted to press the subject about how much it seemed like Charles was _not_ okay, Pickles didn’t find it in himself to really bring it to his mouth. Instead, he wriggled from under his manager and found that he was already getting a semi. Shit. He kind of hoped Charles wouldn’t feel it.

Of course Charles felt the half hard cock under him, he felt it even through his sleepwear and it felt like the cock was just rubbing up against his bare thigh. Damn, this magick _really_ wanted him to get off. Charles shakily stood up and reached over to his alter, where he grabbed his mortar and pestle before grabbing some ingredients to start working on a good mix to get off with.

What the manager didn’t expect was for Pickles to be still in the room while Charles lit two candles on his alter and mixing sage, some kind of paste and some kind of liquid (Pickles couldn’t tell what they were in the low light) together and mashing it all down.

Charles was pulling off his shirt when he felt the warm hands on his exposed back, immediately finding one of his scars. He would feel self-conscious, but he couldn’t bring himself to care and he let Pickles explore his back with little noises of question and maybe worry? Charles didn’t really pay attention as he muttered in Latin to himself.

Nearly dropping his pestle when he felt those warm hands come around to the front of Charles’s pants and pet his cock. Charles gripped the pestle with such a ferocity that barely contained him tossing all of this to the side and fucking Pickles silly. He smirked ominously at the idea of doing that, but shook his head to clear it—that wasn’t entirely him and Charles did not want to go down that road. He wanted to keep conscious during this time.

“Got a present for me~?” Pickles purred before pressing little kisses along Charles’s back. The drummer kept pawing at Charles, making it hard for the manager to focus on his incantation. He stumbled with a word before restarting the verse over.

He finished quickly and turned around, quickly taking up the liquid into his fingers, he brushed it right over Pickles’ lips, it didn’t taste bad but it didn’t taste good either—and then he brought it over and marked either side of Pickles’ neck. Charles painted a Y on his chest, the points of the Y ending at his nipples and the very stem going down to his treasure trail.

“Undress.” Charles demanded while still holding onto the mortar in his hands. The manager was looking at him with such intensity that Pickles was obligated to follow the orders.

After being completely naked, he went to ask about the thing that was all over his lips, but Charles had other plans and slipped his two painted fingers inside of his mouth. There was a little bit of wriggling, so Pickles took the hint and started to suck the weird concoction off of his manager’s fingers. Immediately, Pickles noticed that it wasn’t sage that Charles had been grinding in there, he didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t sage. The second thing that really came to mind when he was sucking this weird thing down was that it was unreasonably warm, it made his stomach all warm and full even though he barely swallowed any of it.

He wanted to keep sucking on Charles’s fingers, but Charles distracted him by touching him all over—Pickles would realize that it wasn’t possible that Charles could have been touching him because both of his hands had been occupied—and Pickles dropped his jaw open, feeling really warm and fuzzy like he was on a good high and that deserved a usual smirk.

“Good,” Charles said softly (no, hotly) in his ear before touching his chest and doing the exact same Y design the manager had on his chest. Pickles shivered, cooed at Charles and started petting him all over, unable to stop himself but it seemed like Charles really didn’t mind it. He seemed to tremble with pleasure and when Pickles started to stroke the fully hard cock, Charles nearly buckled (wait when did Charles get naked?). Suddenly, Pickles’ hand was being guided away from Charles’s cock and into the mortar. The drummer swirled his fingers in the mix, which felt like it was almost out, before guiding his hand straight into Charles’s open mouth. “Fuck that’s hot,” Pickles half moaned while watching Charles suck on his fingers, the sensation causing Pickles to seek friction on his dick. He grabbed it with his free hand and started to expertly jerking himself off.

When all of the substance was sufficiently sucked off of his fingers, Charles kept going, he kept swirling his tongue, he kept sucking and moved ever closer to Pickles. Both hands were suddenly free and they were exploring, they touched every expanse of skin that they could reach and Pickles was really enjoying the feel of those weirdly calloused hands. He only thought it was weird because Charles was a bureaucrat, not a-whatever caused those callouses.

They seemed to have melted to the floor, because Charles refused to go toward the bed, and really Pickles didn’t mind nor care because he was in Charles’s lap and they were sucking on each other’s faces like teenagers. It would have been something to tease Charles about, but Pickles really wanted to explore and not talk.

Pickles set about kissing along Charles’s chest and for some reason, he avoided the Y—although Pickles followed the stem with his hand and started to stroke Charles. The man was loud, louder than Pickles was and it was surprising and maybe a little annoying.

Getting a brilliant idea, Pickles removed his hand and grabbed a hold of Charles’s hair, nice and tight and looked at his manager with powerful green eyes. “Be a good boy for daddy, and suck my cock.” Pickles hummed before he shoved Charles onto his back and crawled right up to his face, holding onto the base of his cock. He immediately went for tracing the bit of precome he had on his cock, all over Charles’s lips and a little over his chin. Pickles waited for Charles to drop his mouth open like a good boy and pressed into his mouth, deciding to be nice for a little bit.

It didn’t take long for Pickles to start getting a good rhythm going between Charles sucking on whatever was in his mouth and just using the warm heat. Pickles balanced himself on one palm on the floor and the other was used to cart his fingers through Charles’s hair, gripping at it whenever Charles did something that Pickles thought was good. It elicited such beautiful sounds out of Charles, every time his hair was pulled and Pickles had to stop himself from yanking the manager’s head raw.

He felt Charles choke the moment his cock head touched the back of the manager’s throat, if he weren’t occupied with making his own noises of pleasure, Pickles surely would have started talking dirty. While he was a fan of it, he just didn’t really feel like doing any of that. Pickles just wanted to come into Charles’s mouth, and get Charles off before going to sleep.

Charles was gripping his hips, Pickles realized, using it to do something with his hands no doubt or maybe he just liked touching Pickles’ skin. Pickles didn’t blame him, he liked his own skin too. Don’t get on a tangent. He found a good angle, that worked for both parties involved and started to fuck more into Charles’s mouth, quickly building up an orgasm because whatever that stuff was that he swallowed, really worked wonders on how sensitive his skin was.

He went as far as he could into Charles’s mouth, Charles’s throat had seemed to accept it and when the brunet moaned, it just vibrated through Pickles and he relished in the feeling. He pumped his hips a few more times, languidly even before he was shooting an obscene amount of cum into his manager’s mouth and throat. The guy was a fuckin’ champ because he took it all and barely choked on it.

It took some prompting from Charles’s hands shoving weakly at his hips to get Pickles out and off of Charles. The manager reached up and took the mortar and spit what he had in his mouth, into the small bowl. Pickles wanted to protest but he couldn’t find the words, or the energy. He watched with fascination and a failing attempt to get it back up, as Charles jerked and finished himself off with a muffled cry of pleasure, right into the mortar.

Normally, Pickles would be out by now because he was still deep in the haze, but he just found himself watching Charles jerk his cock like that. What really caught him off guard though, was the amount both of them came and when Charles came into the mortar, it seemed like there was steam or smoke coming off of the white substance and suddenly darkness took a hold of Pickles, knocking him the fuck out. What was… that thing he thought he saw before he passed out though? It was sitting where Charles had been, but—the thing had horns and a forcibly wide grin.

It fucked Pickles up for a few days, until he forgot it with some better trips.

The next few days were busy, they had another CD to record and it hit the boys that Charles had been working on something special for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely Adrian.
> 
> Note: What Pickles saw was based entirely off of [Crow's](http://crow821.deviantart.com/) [Facebones/Charles](https://40.media.tumblr.com/ff6959c91dc44104b38f7ed6f0ef85c3/tumblr_mucbewnIGf1rez2e1o1_540.jpg) design.


	3. Dethharmonic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki decides that it's /his/ turn to visit their manager at his home. He's in a bad mood and Charles wants to just make sure he's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some warnings: There's choking, some dub-con and bruising.
> 
> So I apologize, this chapter is shorter than the other two before it, but this is what I got for you. I also apologize it's taken so long. Some things came up, blah blah blah.

With their next Album on the way and the news of the boys getting a rather beautiful house being built in their honor, everything seemed to be falling into place.

Everything felt right.

Except that it wasn't alright.

There was a darkness creeping in and Charles could not prepare himself for this darkness. He had no knowledge of it.

 

* * *

 

During the first days of knowing Toki, Charles had quickly recognized the man's potential violence quelling within him. It came out when the rhythm guitarist was drinking a particularly strong concoction of drinks. Charles had somehow managed to talk Toki down from beating some random bar goer, he had calmed the man down enough to leave with him. They drove around the town, mostly in silence, while Charles considered how to use this violence for the health of the man and the health of the band.

Charles had driven to his own apartment automatically. He stared at the building with some weird weariness toward it. "Do you, ah, want to go home?" Charles asked, instead of asking if Toki would like to come up.

Toki was also looking at the apartment building, his eyes bleary before he shook his head. "Nos. I don'ts wants to be around them dildos."

Raising his eyebrows slightly, Charles had meant to ask what had been going on between Toki and the rest of the band, but something told him to just leave it alone. He got out of the car, helping Toki out as well before locking his doors and taking the younger man up to his apartment, not sure where else he could take Toki, short of taking him to a hotel. Which also sounded like a bad idea.

The manager got them both into his apartment, he gently moved Toki to the couch and gently rested him on it. "Relax." Charles said in a softer voice than he probably had around the youngest Dethklok member.

He had left Toki alone for a good five minutes and had come back with a blanket and pillow. When he saw that Toki was already passed out, fully clothed, Charles had to stop himself from smiling at the scene. It was a stupid thing to smile at. He helped Toki out of his shoes at least, before he lied him down, putting the pillow under his head and the blanket over his body.

For the rest of the night, Charles spent in his bedroom, with a light on and papers in his lap. It seemed like the lawsuits were coming in quicker and quicker the more powerful Dethklok became.

None of them would make it beyond being on paper, he knew that for sure. Charles tossed the papers off to the side, rubbing at his eyes tiredly before checking the time. The red letters screamed 4:21am at him and he had to shake his head at the immediate thought he had, although he was briefly amused with himself.

Just as he was setting his papers back in his briefcase, Charles had heard Toki stir. Thinking the man must want to use the restroom, the manager turned around to be greeted with the guitarist, standing in the door way and looking upset. Not upset like he was going to cry, but upset with what could be called anger.

For a moment, Charles actually felt afraid of Toki and what Toki was going to do. He glanced at the guitarist's hands, wondering if he had a weapon of some kind. Upon seeing just fists, Charles relaxed a little more and stepped toward the no-doubt confused guitarist, "Toki." Charles started.

There wasn't much to finish because Toki was advancing on him, he grabbed a hold of Charles' arms with surprising strength. Charles flinched slightly, unable to stop himself but stared upward at Toki. When had Toki gotten so much taller than him?

When words failed Toki, he just gripped tighter on Charles' arms, leaving bruises but not letting him go. He just stared down at Charles with anger and pain and confusion, like he wanted to do something about his anger, but nothing came to his mind.

Charles had to stop himself from trembling in Toki's arms when the man gripped at them so tightly that he could feel the bruises forming already. He swallowed thickly while trying to read what Toki was feeling or even thinking, besides anger. "Let me help." Charles' voice was low and husky; he kicked himself mentally for making this sexual. Why did he always have it in for men or women who could kill him?

Toki gave Charles no response.

This was going to be harder than he thought. Charles tried to move his hands up, to touch Toki and reassure him, but that only seemed to make Toki grip even more on his arms. The manager made a low noise, somewhere between pleasure and pain.

That response made Toki knit his eyebrows together, he was scrutinizing Charles before he tested his strength again. He wrapped his hands around the arms individually and really squeezed like he wanted to rip Charles' arms off of him. Given a response of a low and heady moan, Toki found himself excited too. He dropped his hands from his manager's biceps and to the area just above his elbows, gripping there with the same amount of strength that had caused Charles to moan.

A lower and louder moan came tumbling out of the manager's lips. He dropped his head forward and slumped in Toki's grip, trying to keep himself from going entirely limp. "T-Toki..." His voice was breathy and full of lust. "Please." Charles doesn't know what he's begging for.

The guitarist suddenly shoved Charles onto his bed and was right on top of him, wrapping his hands around the manager's throat and holding him down against the bed. Charles writhed under him, gripping at his wrists but not trying to fight him or push him away. It would later scare the both of them with how willing Charles was to submit to Toki's anger.

Charles did move his hands over Toki's hands after a moment, trying to get him to move his thumbs and when the Norwegian followed through, Charles sighed through with what air he did have in his lungs.

The edge of his vision started to go while he moved his hands from Toki's and absently petting over the man's chest and with trembling fingers, he brushed over the hard on in Toki's pants. That seemed to scare Toki, who let go and drew back, looking at Charles with scared and worried eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped his hands to run over his own slacks, then rested one hand on his stomach, the other on the bed. He had to stop himself from pointing out his own erection by touching it.

Charles drew in a shaky breath before moving to sit up to reassure Toki about all of this, that he was okay with it. He saw that Toki was no longer looking at Charles' face but the manager's obvious hard on. Suddenly, Charles felt horrible and his face flushed with embarrassment while he carefully put a hand over the bulge in his pants. "I... I am sorry, Toki." He stuttered.

"Its okays." Toki said suddenly, having recognized his own boner, "... cans I does that agains?" He asked, sheepishly.

Surprised, he looked at Toki and nodded. "Do, ah, do you want me to touch you or...?"

Toki nodded at the question, he moved onto the bed and grabbed a hold of Charles' hips, roughly, before forcing him onto his stomach and forcing his head straight down onto the bed. Toki decided that he wouldn't care about Charles right now, that this was for him and this was for his sake and his own emotions.

He practically ripped Charles' pants clean off when yanking them down, without undoing any of the things in the way and when Charles' underwear was revealed, Toki just slapped his ass hard.

Charles moaned loudly and pressed more into the hand as harsher and quicker slaps came to the exact same spot. He gripped the bed while his cock made a mess inside of his boxers.

Toki slapped Charles' ass about six times before he roughly and sloppily messed with the manager's cock and balls through his boxers. He used his free hand to push the shirt out of the way, revealing the soft skin that was littered with scars and some moles. Toki brushed a finger over a scar and then leaned down.

The manager swallowed thickly, rutting into Toki's sloppy hand but froze when he felt the finger touch over one of his nastier scars. He expected Toki to kiss the scar or maybe mouth over it like some of his past lovers, but no— no. Toki had another idea.

The sharp teeth in his skin caused Charles to scream into his blankets. It wasn't entirely out of pleasure but _fuck_ did that feel amazing.

Biting a scar wasn't something Toki ever thought he would do, but the unfamiliar line just elicited anger out of the guitarist and he had to mark over the spot. He felt blood rush into his mouth with how rough he bit the skin and felt his dick throb. Toki pulled his hand away from Charles' hot and wet cock before yanking his boxers down, his fingers clumsily finding the manager's hole and roughly swirling his fingers over the spot.

Charles couldn't think straight, he felt like he was starting to drift away as his cock leaked a steady stream of precum. He moaned as he felt Toki's calloused finger against his asshole, he tried pushing back onto the finger. He knew he could seriously fuck himself up if he didn't get at least something wet to go along with those fingers but he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted Toki to be that gentle.

Toki pulled his hand back when he felt Charles trying to fuck himself with it, slapping the same spot he had slapped before. "No!" Toki shouted angrily, "you will take what I give you." The guitarist didn't realize he was speaking Norsk.

Flinching away from the pain as it spread along his cheek, Charles whimpered softly while starting to actually feel like a mess when Toki yelled at him. He silently cursed the fact that he didn't speak Norsk yet, because he couldn't understand what Toki was saying.

A rough hand yanked his hair and Charles choked out a 'yes, sir'. Toki seemed to be happy with his answer because he dropped Charles' head and shuffled off the bed. While Charles wanted the warmth of the body next to him, he did not voice his want, he couldn't bring himself to do it while he tried not to be such a mess.

Toki rummaged around the bedroom until he found lube, he didn't really find anything else that drew his attention expect for the lube. The guitarist came back and slathered his hand up, he knelt back onto the bed and roughly shoved a finger inside of Charles.

The bed dipped, Charles had expected there to be more slapping or biting or maybe teasing, but no-- Toki had shoved a finger (lubed up, which was nice) into Charles. The manager moaned loudly before he bit down on the bed to stop himself from being such a loud whore.

Wriggling his finger inside of Charles, Toki took a second to actually look at the bruise forming on Charles' ass cheek. He brushed his free hand over the sensitive and hot flesh, which made Charles shy away, but Toki gripped at his hip to stop him from going too far. "You fucking stay there." He snapped and shoved a second finger in, quickly starting to fuck Charles' hole with his fingers.

Charles writhed around Toki's fingers and started to push his hips back to get more traction or friction. He wanted more, he could take more. He tried voicing that even, but he couldn't bring the words out and instead, he just tried to get the point across by bucking his hips back against Toki's fingers.

Suddenly a strong hand was on Charles’ lower back, pushing him down onto the bed and he complied because he wanted to please. Toki slid a third finger into the manager, even if Charles wasn’t ready and tried to stretch him more. It kind of hit Charles, that he was surprised at Toki knowing to stretch him at all. Before he could really think further on the subject of Toki’s virginity, he was left empty and wanting. The manager glanced back toward Toki to see what he was doing. He watched with interest as he spotted Toki pulling his cock out of his pants, immediately Charles’ hole twitched with interest and he gripped at the sheets to stop himself from touching any part of himself.

The cap to the lube was opened again, Charles closed his eyes and let his imagination fill the lack of him being able to see. He could hear the soft squelching of lube being poured and then spread on skin. He squirmed a little and moved a hand back to help spread his cheeks for the Norwegian artist.

As soon he reached to help open his cheeks, the guitarist had slapped his hand away again before shifting closer to the manager. When he got close enough, the sloped, fat head of his cock pressed against Charles' entrance and out of habit, the manager keened nice and low before pressing himself back up against the cock head.

Toki had to stop himself from letting Charles take control. He made an impatient noise and snapped something out in Norsk before thrusting his cock into Charles without caring if he was ready or not. Charles practically thrashed below Toki as the half of Toki just practically rips him open, he moaned and twitched and writhed under the younger man.

It was hard for Toki to control himself from thrusting in the rest of the way as his manager writhed under him like that. The rhythm guitarist put one hand on Charles’ lower back and the other on the bed to balance himself better, his hair wasn’t quite as long as Toki would have liked and when he bowed over Charles, it barely brushed the manager’s skin. After a moment of just letting the other man adjust to him, Toki thrust further into him before leaning down to bite at the older man’s back.

Feeling the teeth dig into his skin and the cock sliding deeper inside of him, Charles moaned loudly like he couldn’t get enough of this and pushed himself back against Toki, pushing more of the cock inside of him and feeling like he was going to be ripped apart. Charles had to stop himself from rocking back into Toki, because it was clear that Toki wanted total control here.

He shifted inside of the manager before finally pushing his cock completely into Charles, the tight heat driving him to a strange frenzy. Toki looked at the sweat slicked back, the marks that had been made by a previous person and scars that looked all too familiar. He reached his hand forward and pressed the back of Charles' neck into the bed and started to build up a rhythm of fucking his manager.

Charles keened lowly when his neck was being pressed like that, his head lowering more into the pillow and he whimpered as the younger man started to thrust in and out of him with abandon. He arched his back as best as he could, trying to get Toki in as deep as his big, fat cock could go-- fuck this was all so much and he could _feel_ the magick slithering into his system. No doubt into Toki too-- Shit, he didn't add any sigils or woads to either of them to help expel the magick out of them.

But before he could think too much on it, Toki had moved to grip at his hair and hit just right against his prostate. Charles moaned loudly, rolling his hips as best as he could while his head arched to alleviate a little muscle tension in his neck and scalp.

When Toki pulled out of him, the manager whimpered, reaching back to try and touch the young Norwegian and beg him to get back inside of him. He was suddenly being moved, flipped onto his back and his legs being forced a part-- Charles looked up at Toki with awe and lust filling his expression as the younger man seemed to consider what he wanted to do.

Charles moved to try and touch Toki again, but the guitar player smacked his hand away and then pulled Charles up into his lap, moving the two of them until the manager was already starting to slide onto Toki's cock. It was hard for Charles not to try and speed things up, his eyes threatening to close as he felt Toki fill him up like this.

As he sat upon Toki's lap, with the younger man's cock entirely inside of him, Charles was twitching and practically useless. It was so much-- it had been so long since he's had a cock inside of his ass like this and Toki was **so big**. "More." He murmured and rolled his hips a little. Which seemed to have gotten Toki's attention as the young guitar player grabbed at the manager's hips and started to lift him, immediately following Charles rising to his knees with a thrust and keeping most of his cock inside of the manager.

This was all so much for Charles, his skin felt like it was lighting on fire and his muscles twitched under the skin, begging for the release. He moved and slid back down onto Toki's cock as the younger man settled on the bed—the two built the rhythm, both equally moving in tandem with each other and making the other moan and groan in pleasure.

Nearing his orgasm first, Charles reached up and grasped at Toki's shoulders, shifting a little before the younger man grabbed his hips again. The two moved, Toki hovering over the manager while one of Charles' legs rested on the guitarist's shoulder, the other splayed open and allowing Toki access.

The two looked in each other's eyes while Toki started to work more erratically, the young man's face nearly twisted in an angry snarl which scared Charles. But God, God did he want more. "Bite. Bite please?" Charles whimpered, turning his head up and to the side to expose his jugular.

Taking the bait, Toki leaned over the manager's lithe body and bit into his neck, leaving a dark bruise there as he fucked erratically into his manager.

Feeling the teeth in his neck and Toki's cock hitting his prostate just right, Charles cried out in pure pleasure before arching his back and cumming hard. His chest being made a mess of—he would have to make sure to take extra care of his chest hair now.

As Charles' already tight muscles clench around his dick, Toki growled and thrust completely into his manager again, burying himself to the hilt and rolling his hips through Charles' orgasm. The guitarist hit his peek as Charles' mouth dropped open and a loud exhale of the younger man's name leaked out into the air. He shuddered, rolling his hips through both of their orgasms and as soon as he felt himself empty, Toki pulled out of Charles and flopped onto the bed next to him.

Swallowing thickly as he felt Toki pull out of him, leaving a mess on the bed under the manager, Charles glanced over at the young man. It seemed like Toki was already out—he just lied back, deciding not to care about the wet spot until morning came. He could sleep now.

 

* * *

 

When it was about 6:40am, the manager was up and regretting letting himself sleep in the wet spot. He pulled away from the sheets with a quiet grumble, stumbled into his bathroom and moved to the toilet. After relieving himself, he went to the sink and started washing his hands; as he washed his hands, something caught his eye and he looked up to the mirror for the first time since he got this apartment.

Making eye contact with himself, he saw how his green eyes glowed in the dark, but what _really_ caught his attention was a pair of blue glowing dots not too far away from him at this angle. Charles slowly turned his head to the side to glance at the figure standing in the dark—it appeared to be Toki.

"Is... everything all right?" The manager asked, weary of Toki all of the sudden. Something had changed, and Charles was swiftly getting worried that he had made a mistake by letting Toki fuck him like this. Was the magick too much for the young man?

Toki didn’t react at first, he just blinked at Charles and saw his glowing eyes too before he turned and walked back toward the bed, he didn’t want to talk and while that may have frustrated his manager, he couldn’t bring himself to talk. Instead, Toki lied down on the bed and curled up on his side.

Frowning when Toki didn’t give him an answer, he looked at the young man as he walked away and lied down on the bed. Charles hesitated, something was wrong and he wasn’t sure how to take care of it. He slowly moved over to the bed before sitting down by Toki’s feet. “Toki,” Charles started, not sure where he was going with this. “Do you believe in Magick?”

For most of the morning, Charles spoke to the young Norwegian about all of the magick he knew—at least the good kind.

When he drove Toki back to the Mordappartment, Charles sat inside the car for a moment with Toki. “By next week, you boys and I will be in a new home.” The manager informed the other, “Give me a call if you need anything alright?” He pat Toki on the arm, the young man smiled at him and then slid out of the car.

Before the end of the week, Toki had brought a stray cat into the apartment and while the rest of the band had complained, none of them stopped the rhythm guitarist from having the cat in the apartment. By the time they were moving into the brand new, three level ‘Mordhaus’, the cat was dead sadly. Toki mourned the cat, but soon forgot the creature.

Each of the boys got their own room, their own bed and soon were making demands to their manager about individual things they wanted in their rooms. Charles decided he would indulge the band for most of the requests for their new house.

It was a gift to them, after all.


End file.
